


All Your Time Waiting

by Dira Sudis (dsudis)



Category: due South
Genre: Community: ds_flashfiction, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-14
Updated: 2010-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:10:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"All of my illusions about you are being shattered, here."</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	All Your Time Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> This story was first posted for the Songfic challenge, August 23, 2005.

"Fraser!"

He looked up from sorting silverware toward the sound of Ray’s voice. It was coming from behind a large box, the one that held the carefully-packed stereo equipment. "Yes, Ray?"

Ray’s head appeared above the box. "All of my illusions about you are being shattered, here."

Fraser smiled, but said only, "I understand that’s a common consequence of cohabitation, Ray."

"A common--hey, say that again, Fraser." He obliged, and was rewarded by the widening smile on Ray’s face as he set one arm along the edge of the box and propped his chin on his wrist. "That’s nice, Fraser. I am an aficionado of alliteration, y’know that?"

"I had no idea."

Ray nodded. "Ninth grade English, had to do a presentation on it in front of the class. The things you remember, huh?"

Fraser nodded, wondering if Ray had forgotten--

"But back to the point, Fraser." Ray pointed two accusatory fingers in his direction. "You own CDs."

He looked back down into the silverware drawer. "As you see, Ray."

"And not Eskimo nose singing or the calls of the caribou."

He picked up a water-spotted spoon and began to polish it with the hem of his shirt. "Well, Ray, Inuit throat singing has been sadly neglected by the major recording labels, which makes it difficult for the average individual to acquire--"

"Fraser, this is Sarah McLachlan."

Fraser set down the spoon carefully, with hardly a clink. "Well, yes, Ray, so it is. She has a contract with Arista, which makes her music readily available." There was a palpable silence, and when he looked up, Ray had raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "She _is_ Canadian."

"Huh," Ray said, and then looked down. Fraser heard the click of a jewel case being opened, and the slide of the liner notes being withdrawn. "So," Ray said after a moment of flipping pages. "You actually like this?"

"Yes, Ray. I, ah." Ridiculous, considering some of the things he’d found himself able to say--and do--to and with Ray in the last several months, to find it difficult to speak now. When Ray looked up again, he felt steadied. "I used to listen to it, when--" He halted abruptly; they both preferred not to talk about the embarrassingly long period of time they'd spent warily working up to their current degree of partnership. "Before. Track seven was--" Ray looked down, consulting the notes, and Fraser couldn’t finish the sentence, which was likely for the best. He wasn’t sure what he could have said that the song didn’t say better.

"_Angel_, Fraser? Don’t tell me you’re calling me an angel."

He kept his eyes on the spoons and said nothing, listening as Ray’s footfalls approached, until Ray’s arms went around him, holding tight, and he was steadied again. "All right, Ray," he murmured, and the words came so easily, now, with Ray's cheek warm against the back of his neck. Who gave a good God damn about the spoons anyway? "Then I’ll just say that I am in the arms of my second chance."

 


End file.
